


All Of The Love I See Is Run With Red

by madeinessos



Category: Us (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Horror, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinessos/pseuds/madeinessos
Summary: The Devil learned to dance. Addie learned to touch herself.
Relationships: Adelaide Wilson/Adelaide Thomas, Adelaide Wilson/Red (Us Movie 2019)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2019





	All Of The Love I See Is Run With Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).

> "The soul remains one, shared by two."
> 
> – Us (dir. Jordan Peele)
> 
> *
> 
> "All of the love I see, I see, I see  
Is run with red.  
This is the love that you gave me  
And it's the one that I'm fighting for"
> 
> – Creep, Tei Shi
> 
> *
> 
> "Look all about you, Spider Woman," said Sotuknang.  
"Here now is endless space.  
But in the world there is no joyful movement."
> 
> – Us (dir. Jordan Peele)

Once upon a time, Addie learned to touch herself.

It happened one day in hell.

*

The bedroom in the summer house smelled of fresh strawberries. It was a room rich in freshness, really. Soft carpet. Wide glass window brimming with sunshine. Cool breeze from glossy leaves. Mama’s writing desk, its intricately carved metal still polished, like a smile in a picture, saying welcome home, welcome back. And so, refreshed, Addie whistled as she tethered the Devil to the writing desk bolted to the wall. Never trust the Devil, especially the Devil not leashed.

“I haven’t,” husked Addie, “had strawberries in years.”

It had not been a _very_ difficult work, dragging the Devil back up here. Addie had only needed to break the Devil’s dancer’s feet.

She ran a fingertip on the Devil’s skin kissed by the cuff. The Devil’s hand jerked. Twisted, tried to grab at her. Addie ignored this. She opened the scissors, snapped it shut. _Shink, shink, shink_. Strips of grimy white cloth fell away from the Devil’s leg, and Addie caressed the Devil’s calf with the point of the scissors, enjoying the jump of sweat-shined muscles. Rabbity, rabbity, rabbity.

“No,” said the Devil. She wriggled again. “No.”

Then she tried to knee Addie.

Addie slapped her foot with the scissors.

“Fuck!” wailed the Devil. “Fuck! Fuck you! Shit!”

The sting of the Devil’s tears smelled hot. Addie heard the pounding and the yelling at the back of her mind. Here in the sunlight, in the kingdom of Addie’s childhood, the cuffs were jangling. The Devil still refused to understand that she was trapped.

Addie curved her lips. Lifted her cheeks. A smile. She remembered how to make one.

“You,” Addie rasped, “will sing. For me.”

*

Last night had been the first time that Addie heard the Devil’s voice. A whole voice it was, grown up and speaking in Addie’s English, each word that rolled out plump with gloating. When Addie had heard it for the first time twin urges gripped her.

To weep.

And to cut out the Devil’s tongue in a red rage. To snatch that ghoulish souvenir of what Addie’s voice should have grown up to be, a voice of creamy milk, of pure honey. A deep and soothing voice.

But Addie had remembered that day in hell when her eyes were opened. She’d remembered her realisation, and so she’d refrained from cutting out that devilish tongue.

*

Once upon a time, Addie learned to touch herself.

It happened one day in hell.

There was no joyful movement in hell. Instead there were only low ceilings and grubby fluorescent lights, the aimless shuffling of hundreds of heavy soles, and either silence or the guttural moans of hundreds of strangers. There was the pair of ballet shoes, faded pink and scuffed, hanging by the foot of Addie’s lower bunk. She didn’t want them. She didn’t want the shoes any more than she wanted the gauzy floofy skirt hanging beside them. They made her move. Not joyful movements, no, but more like a curse. They urged her to that place where her dreams began. They rushed her to some unnamed feeling. It was a curse from the Devil, she was sure. In Addie’s last few dreams she’d seen the Devil eagerly learning to dance with a new teacher.

But Addie was tired. She’d had to dance all day. She’d had to bend and stretch and twist all day.

Oddly, the dancing brought a new ache to her collection of aches.

In the hot shadows this new ache pooled between her thighs, sweet and molten. Addie blinked.

She squirmed on the bunk.

She reached down.

Her fingers found slippery warmth. Found something of hers that was eager, longing.

A startled echo rattled at the back of Addie’s mind.

She grinned and started stroking.

Soft. Wet. Hungry in its welcome.

The stronger the shock echoed the harder Addie rubbed, the deeper Addie stroked, the bolder Addie grew. Her hand was hers alone. It was Adelaide Thomas’ hand. Her heart raced. A disembodied echo of banging fists. Addie’s hand grew wet, and her thighs came up, and it felt like she was eating and feeding herself at the same time. This was joyful movement. This was a piece of heaven. Yes, this. Oh yes.

And then heaven burst free. Tightly, shuddery, curling Addie’s toes, squeezing out of her jagged gasps. The hot shadows thickened with the red smells of rabbit heart. Heaven engulfed the echoes of alarm and banging fists.

Heaven felt like Addie’s soul at its peak wholeness.

For the first time since the Devil, she fell asleep easily.

*

A short way from where Addie’s dreams began, there lurked the Devil.

In the beginning she had been fearful of the Devil. And why not? The Devil had clammy hands and the Devil had choked Addie’s voice out of her, leaving nothing but the sound of scrabbling fingernails, before dragging Addie down to hell. The Devil had stolen Mama and Papa. In the beginning Addie had shivered and curled in on herself in her dreams whilst the Devil had grown louder and stronger, fattened by words and sunshine and joyful movement.

But after the dance and after that first piece of heaven, Addie’s eyes were opened.

_Just a dream. A dream, just a dream_, Addie caught the Devil thinking. In Addie’s own language of English. She caught the fear in the words. It was clear and cool and fresh, that fear, and Addie sucked it up, a bounty for her parched throat.

The Devil was scared.

The Devil, after all, was really just Addie’s shadow. Just Addie’s rib. The Devil didn’t even have a name and had to take Addie’s own.

Through the years sleep kept coming easily to Addie. In the dreams she was not affected with what she believed to be the sole success of the government’s experimental clones. In the dreams Addie straightened her shoulders. She strode in like she owned the place, because she did.

“Just a dream,” the Devil insisted, her back resolutely turned. “I am real. I _am_ real. This is just a dream.”

Occasionally the Devil would glance over her shoulder. The Devil’s eyes were big and bright and frightened. And to think, those devilish eyes had used to be the stuff of Addie’s nightmares.

In the dreams Addie’s throat was free. She started to whistle. She started to crowd into the Devil’s space. Addie never stopped thinking about the Devil.

And then, at one point, the Devil tried to cut the place where their dreams met.

*

“Where’s Jason?”

Those eyes, big and bright and devilish, were fixed on Addie. Good.

“I want you,” Addie repeated, “to sing. Sing for me.”

“Sing,” the Devil said flatly. “You want me to sing. You – I can’t believe – you tell me where Jason is.”

“Sing. If you want to see him.”

“Where is he?” shouted the Devil. The cuffs clinked furiously. “Where is he?”

Addie could take her time. She wanted to, anyway. She was used to it. So she sat on the bed.

Ah, yes.

Downy bed. Rich with softness and a gentle sunshine-and-baby smell. A lived-in smell. Addie settled one hand on it. Petted it.

Then she watched the Devil. The Devil sprawled out on the soft carpet of Addie’s childhood summer house, the Devil leashed to Mama’s writing desk. She regarded the Devil’s face. And once again, Addie was overcome with that feeling, that raging want to crumple something. To crumple it, and squeeze it into a pulp, and shove it in her mouth, and swallow it, and keep it.

The Devil paused.

Her eyes intent on Addie, she must have seen something.

The Devil’s gaze slid from Addie’s face to Addie’s throat. She stared at Addie’s throat. She stared some more. She kept staring at Addie’s throat.

Then the Devil let out a low laugh.

A long, low laugh.

Her shoulders quaked. The scar on her cheek smirked, goading and ghastly. Her eyes, still on Addie’s throat, bared teeth. Sharp. The Devil’s laugh rolled out smoothly.

“No. No, I won’t fucking sing for you,” she said, still laughing.

Laughing laughing, smoothly smoothly, laugh smooth, laugh of milk and honey.

Crumple it. Eat it.

Addie raised the bloodied scissors. “Baby boy’s blood. See?”

The Devil stopped abruptly.

Her jaw tensed. Her left eyelid twitched.

Addie opened the scissors, snapped it shut. She did it again, to demonstrate. _Shink, shink, shink_, the scissors had said. _Shink, shink, shink_.

“A smooth,” Addie crooned, jaggedly, “liquid song. For the baby boy.” Smoother than her voice, anyway.

A thin pained sound.

The Devil's lips pulled back from her gnashed teeth. Her hands curled into fists. She lunged.

Or tried to.

The cuffs clanged, pulling her back. The Devil snarled. Wailed. Growled. Sobbed. Raged.

“No, no, no, I’ll kill you, I’m gonna fucking gut you –”

The cuffs kept clanging, clanging, clanging.

Addie’s gaze lovingly followed the green vein throbbing on the Devil’s wrist, the pained knit of the Devil’s brows, the hot tears blooming and sliding down the Devil’s scarred cheek. The blood on the Devil’s hands, a lush red in the early morning sunlight. The Devil’s sweat blotted a spot on the carpet half a hand away from Addie’s toes. So close. Oh, so close. Addie’s lips curved wider. The desperate jangle of the cuffs and the strain on the Devil’s growly breathing, Addie enjoyed those too, sucking on them like a sweet.

An ache, sweet and molten, flowed.

And then the Devil stopped.

Her nostrils flared. Big bright eyes. Dregs of a snarl on plush lips. Firm chin glistening with tears and blood and sweat. Beautiful, beautiful devil. She looked just like Addie.

“What,” said Addie, “can you taste it, too?”

Before the Devil could say anything, Addie leapt from the bed and str–

*

Adelaide blinked awake.

She felt strange.

As though this was a dream. Floaty. Blurry. Dangerous. Why wasn’t she in pain? Her eyes were gritty. Adelaide blinked again. When she moved to swipe at them with her knuckles, she found her wrists chained to the headboard.

A head popped up from the side of the bed. It was Her.

Adelaide recoiled.

No.

No. Oh no, no, no.

Jason. Her baby.

Adelaide’s skin crawled. Her ears throbbed. Then she realised that her clothes were gone. Blood-stained strips in a white tattered pile on the floor. Adelaide was only in her bra and pants, and She was looming closer and closer with that awful smile.

Adelaide turned her cheek.

A wet cloth slowly rubbed at it. A throaty chuckle soon followed, almost touching Adelaide's cheek along with the cloth, and She was saying, “I don't want you dirty.”

As if Adelaide should be saying thank you?!

“Later,” She continued, “you can bleed and sweat.”

What?

Rough fingers gripped her cheeks and yanked.

Adelaide’s breath snagged.

Adelaide found Her eyes so close, found Her face so uncomfortably close, as if She were forcing them both to blur and melt and Adelaide wasn’t having it, fuck no. Adelaide wasn’t in much pain, she got it now, because what She heard from Adelaide as echoes and impressions, Adelaide heard from Her as almost-shouts. Adelaide not only heard; she felt it. _She_ had always been tangible, She had always been just a crumbling of boundaries away, and Adelaide was not fucking having it.

Adelaide bucked and twisted. If she had to knock Her out with her own forehead she would do it. She’d fucking do it. She’d do anything. Adelaide had clambered up a downwards escalator as a child and shortly afterwards had found a tearful mother and a frowny father and a half-eaten birthday cake. Adelaide twisted again. Her eyes darted about the room, hunting.

Then Her lust slammed against Adelaide. Flooded up Adelaide's throat. Unspooled in Adelaide's cunt.

Adelaide choked on a sob.

Baring her teeth and keeping her voice from trembling, Adelaide gritted out, “Oh you want me to sing? Really? Of course you do.”

The pad of Her thumb, callused, rough, hot, rasped along the bare skin of Adelaide's thigh. “I taught them,” She crackled, “to sing, you know. We both of us have teeth. Lips. Tongue.” She smiled Her uneven smile, and the cold tip of the scissors touched the hollow of Adelaide's throat. A cold finger-tip whisper. “Voice,” She finished.

Adelaide’s cunt clenched. Her stomach turned. Trembled. Fluttered wetly.

*

The Devil’s throat throbbed. Pulsed. Rabbity, rabbity, rabbity. Addie could almost hear the thick swish of blood.

She gripped the Devil’s chin and forced the Devil's face to an angle, her teeth away from Addie. The chains clinked. Sunshine sliced into the room. Addie admired the throbbing on the Devil’s throat for a moment before leaning down the rest of way. She parted her lips, pressed her tongue against the quivering spot. Tasted the strawberry-tart sweat on it, the sun-warmed fear on it. Addie heard the drip of confused loathing at the back of her mind. The wet deep musk from the Devil tickled Addie’s nose. Addie loved it. It made her ache, sweet and molten. Addie bit down, hard. Sucked down, harder. Tasted the choked sobs curdling in it. Addie flattened her tongue on it, laved on it, and in between teeth and tongue, she husked, “You should have loved me.”

Addie leaned back.

The Devil’s eyes were glossed with unshed tears. “Why are you doing this?”

Why?

Why not? Addie had hungered, for so long.

Addie traced the Devil’s jutting collarbones with the pointy tip of the scissors. A metal dove, Addie guided the scissors across the trembling expanse. Glided it down to the Devil’s heaving chest. Snipped the black bra with it. Fluttered it between the slopes of the Devil’s slick breasts. Nudged the Devil’s nipple with it, teased it with. She smoothened it under the Devil’s left breast, enjoying the goose prickles, the wet hitches in the Devil’s breathing, before pressing two fingers on the rib beside the scissors. “You don't have,” observed Addie, “my mole here.”

Addie’s lips curved. She urged the metal dove on to the crease where the Devil’s hips met the Devil’s thighs. She slid the parted scissors, gulped in the Devil’s yelp, and the damp scrap of cot –

– ton fell away.

Oh, God no. Adelaide was so wet.

“Sopping,” She put in.

Before sliding the cold curved handle of the scissors against Adelaide’s cunt lips. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly. Adelaide’s hips rolled with it, slow sticky rolls, and before she knew it broken moans were tumbling past her lips.

Adelaide’s cheeks burned and her stomach roiled, and it felt so good.

No.

“Yes,” She whispered, removing the cold scissors, replacing it with the pad of a callused thumb. Up, down. Up. Down. Brush against Adelaide’s clit. Her hips jerked, her heart thudded to her throat, fingers wrapped around it.

“No,” Adelaide squeezed out.

Adelaide’s head was tilted just as two fingers roughly fucked into her cunt. Sopping wet. Adelaide squelched around the fingers, squeezed them, milked them. They kept stoking deeper. Fucking harder. Sucking out more wetness. Adelaide’s nape burned. A hot mouth engulfed her nipple, sucked hard, and Adelaide’s eyelashes fluttered. Her hips fucked back. Relentless fingernails bit into her jaws. A thick molten lust licked down Adelaide’s spine. It was not hers. It was hers. It condensed behind her knees. Parted her thighs wide open. Melted out of her cunt. Adelaide was keening. _Her_ wide open eyes were a breath away, gleaming. _Her_ heart pumped against Adelaide's chest. Adelaide was close, so close, yes, oh God yes, oh God, oh God, oh G –

*

Addie yanked back her hand.

The Devil whimpered. Wailed. Writhed.

The Devil struggled, straining against the chains, straining towards Addie’s hand. She was spread out beautifully. Spread open like a heart. Her lips glistened. Her cheeks were stained with tears. Her heavily-lidded gaze was trained on Addie, almost hunter-like. Her throat rumbled with the beginnings of her guttural breathing. The musk of her desperate longing thickened the summer air. She was clear and bitter and made for Addie's mouth.

Crumple her, and squeeze her into a pulp, and swallow her, and keep her.

Smearing the wetness on the Devil's spasming torso, sliding her grip from hips to waist to breasts, kneading, digging, almost caressing, Addie said, “No heaven for you.”

Not yet.

Maybe.

Addie curved her lips. She wanted to take her time.

_ **fin** _


End file.
